


Wine and Cheese

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drinking, Humor, M/M, the reds have a fun and classy brunch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 01:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12924282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Bitters, Matthews, and Jensen, all three declared “obviously honorary Reds” by Colonel Sarge, enter their first ever apparently mandatory for all Reds ‘Donut’s Wine and Cheese Hour’.It is, of course, a horrible mistake.





	Wine and Cheese

Bitters was of course planning to just skip it and give a shamelessly half assed excuse if he was asked later why he didn’t come. It’s much easier to slack off when you don’t give a shit about what other people think of you, and it’s not like his captain, the guy who actually had the power to fuck with Bitters if he wanted to, gives a shit. He’d probably even be proud of him for skiving, the weirdo. So there’s no need to be worried about how Donut will feel when his invitation is ignored, so he doesn’t bother to do so. 

Not caring about other people is the true path to Zen. 

“You’ve gotta come with me!” Matthews practically begs him. 

It’s really too bad Bitters can’t live up to his own ideals in addition to anyone else’s. 

“I’m sure Jensen will be there, the nerd’s got an attendance almost as perfect as yours,” Bitters tries, thinking about his bed. 

“I barely know her! She’s _ your _ friend!” 

Bitters has seriously got to get Matthews some more friends. Sure, it’s nice to be able to hang with him alone whenever he feels like it, which is most of the time, but also that’s greedy asshole thinking, and there are some things in which Matthews needs a supportive friend to be with him for that Bitters seriously doesn’t want to do, like this very situation that’s happening right now. Also it might help with his whole mess of self worth issues or whatever, not like that’s on his mind or anything. 

“Jensen’s nice,” he says, and it's true. So there’s no need to feel guilty. This could be the bonding opportunity that finally gets Matthews his second ever friend! A trial of fire that would make them besties forever. The safe kind of bestie that Bitters doesn’t have to worry about (not that he ever worries), that already has a boyfriend of her own. And she likes nerd stuff! So he’s totally not just deciding right now that Jensen will make the perfect friend for Matthews just because she’s nonthreatening or whatever, they totally have things in common too. 

“Antoine,” hey, no fair,  _ “please.”  _

Most people don’t know this about him, but Matthews fights  _ dirty.  _ He’s pretty sure not even Matthews knows that, actually. 

Bitters lets out a long agonized groan, which Matthews instantly recognizes as surrender/agreement, and he rewards him with a gratefully tight hug for it. 

He is never going to reach apathetic, soul numbed Nirvana, and it’s all going to be because of this fucking nerd who gives great hugs right here. He should so just ditch him. But he knows he won’t. 

(Seriously, just, the _ best  _ hugs.)

* * *

 

“Oh, hey guys!” Jensen greets them, clutching the elaborately decorated invitation in her hands that Bitters himself had set on fire with his lighter because when he’d opened it it had gotten glitter all over his fatigues. It had gone up far faster and burned far brighter than any normal piece of paper should. 

“What, do you think they’re gonna make you show it at the door before they’ll let you in?” he asks her, raising his eyebrow at the pink envelope. Actually that’d be pretty great considering the fact that he’d then have a perfect excuse. (And then Matthews would have to either despondently just go back to his room or go to the damned event on his own and try to not have a panic attack.) 

“Of course not!” Donut says, slamming the door in front of them open. “Double O Donut never forgets a face! Helmet! Whatever! Come on in!!!” 

Jensen and Matthews give twin squeaks at the man’s sudden entrance. 

Bitters had already been regretting this before it started, but now he finds it in himself to regret it even more. 

Bitters, Matthews, and Jensen, all three declared “obviously honorary Reds” by Colonel Sarge, enter their first ever apparently mandatory for all Reds ‘Donut’s Wine and Cheese Hour’. 

It is, of course, a horrible mistake.

* * *

 

“Are you sure these guys are legal?” Grif squints at Jensen’s braces. She flushes and clearly pretends not to notice. 

“They’ve got blood on their hands, Grif, they should get to celebrate that with booze whenever they should want to!” Sarge shoves a full wine glass into Matthews’ hands, except it’s more of a tankard than a wine glass. 

“I think it’s ‘to cope with’ rather than ‘celebrate’, sir,” Simmons interjects. 

“Humbug!” 

“My set of crystal glasses broke in the plane crash,” Donut apologetically explains. “So we’ll just have to make do.” 

“You weren’t on the Hand of Merope when it crashed, Donut,” Grif points out. 

“I’ve been in _ other  _ plane crashes, Grif.” Donut sniffs like it’s very self absorbed of Grif to assume that Donut hasn’t been in many plane crashes while they weren’t in contact with each other. 

Matthews almost coughs up a lung along with his mouthful of wine. Bitters thumps him on his back. Yeah, he should’ve predicted that something like that was going to happen. 

“Um,” Matthews flushes, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just I didn’t expect it to taste…”

Jensen proceeds to almost cough up a lung as well. “This…!” she wheezes, doubling over. “This isn’t…!” 

“Not my _ finest  _ wine, I know,” Donut ruefully admits. “Resources are so scarce on Chorus.” 

“You made this?” Bitters asks, giving his own tankard an uncertain look. 

“In my bathtub!” 

Matthews, who had been valiantly trying to force down another mouthful (trying to impress Grif, no doubt), spits it back up again into his cup. He stares at it with horror. 

“Isn’t that called moonshine?” Jensen asks. 

“No, it’s wine!” 

“For the last time,” Simmons snaps, “putting something in a wine bottle doesn’t automatically make it wine!” 

“Right.” Donut nods. “It also needs an alcohol content.” 

“That checks out,” Grif says with a nod, and then empties his tankard in one go. Not even Bitters can resist staring in horrified awe as he seemingly effortlessly chugs the vile tasting concoction, but all of the sim troopers don’t even glance at him, except for Simmons to throw him an annoyed look at having contradicted him. 

Donut sets out a plate of cheese and Simmons immediately finds something new to complain about. 

“What is that,” he says flatly. 

“It’s the cheese,” Donut replies levely. “Y’know, like ‘Donut’s wine and cheese hour’? If there wasn’t any cheese involved it wouldn’t be a fun, classy brunch with friends, we’d just be getting drunk together.” 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Sarge grunts. “‘S manly! Good for the soul.” 

“Um,” Jensen says. 

“You’re very manly, Lieutenant Jensen,” Sarge tells her in what Bitters thinks is supposed to be intended as a compliment, or a reassurement. 

“This cheese has clearly gone bad,” Simmons determinedly continues his complaints despite the conversation trying to move on. 

“No, no, it’s just fancy old cheese!” Donut denies. 

Simmons points an accusing finger at the cheese tray. “Fancy old cheese is not pre-sliced. This is just normal dollar store cheese that has been lying around for too long. We need to throw this out.” 

“Waste food?” Donut gasps. “In this economy!?” 

“Does Chorus even have an economy any longer?” Matthews asks. 

“I traded a pack of cigarettes for a box of twinkies yesterday,” Bitters offers. “That’s a sort of economy.” 

Grif opens his mouth. 

“I already ate all of it, I wouldn’t have let on to its existence otherwise.” 

Grif closes his mouth, an expression of deep disappointment (of there being no twinkies to steal) and of deep pride (of Bitters’ maverick-ishness) warring on his mismatched face. 

“I’m not eating this,” Simmons declares. 

“Suit yourself!” Donut huffs. “Not like it was _ incredibly hard  _ to find cheese on a wartorn planet or anything, oh no!” 

“We could just have wine and cheetos instead,” Grif suggests. “Cheetos is pretty similar to cheese, right?” 

“Yes, sir!” Matthews chirpily jumps to agree with his captain on something. 

“No, dirtbag,” Sarge eagerly jumps to disagree with him. “I’ve inspected the ingredient makeup of a cheeto by way of deep and rigorous scientific research--”

“You just read the back of the bag didn’t you--” Grif says. 

“--and I’ve come to the conclusion that it does not, technically, count as any sort of food despite being somehow edible.” 

“Well that’s, like, just your opinion, man.” 

“Wine and cheetos doesn’t count as a fun, classy brunch either. That’s just like getting drunk except even  _ sadder, _ now.” Donut sniffs primly, and then determinedly takes a bite of the ‘fancy old cheese’. His expression goes fixed and his gaze distant and unblinking, but he continues chewing. 

“You’re all going to get food poisoning,” Simmons prophecies. 

“Nothing but a silver bullet engraved with my true name shot by my arch enemy could possibly ever kill me, son,” Sarge says, and takes a large bite of cheese and washes it down with the equally foul tasting wine. 

“Is that why you never tell anyone your name?” Grif asks through a mouthful of cheese. 

Jensen, Matthews, and Bitters make eye contact. Bitters’ hand slowly inches towards the cheese tray. Matthews’ hand shoots out to grab his wrist in a vice like grip. He shakes his head at him, face pale and jaw set. Jensen carefully doesn’t move a muscle, to eat nor drink. 

Bitters is trapped at a shitty party where all of the food and drinks are poisonous, probably. It’s like he’s died and landed in his own ironically themed hell. 

At least Matthews is still holding his wrist.

* * *

 

“Maybe we should cut him off…?” Jensen asks uncertainly. 

Simmons hiccups. 

“I mean, I know this is strong stuff, but that’s even faster than usual,” Grif comments. 

“Grif,” Simmons slurs. “Grifffffff.” 

“Drinking on an empty stomach,” Sarge says, shaking his head at his subordinate’s folly. “Should’ve stopped him.” 

“I think,” Simmons says. 

“I tried to!” Donut says. 

“I _ think,”  _ he says. 

“Yeah, but it was definitely more because of you feeling offended that he didn’t want to eat your rotten cheese, right?” Grif asks. 

“We.” He sways in his seat. “I think we should.” 

“Not rotten,  _ tastefully aged.”  _

“I think we should get married, Grif.” 

There’s perfect silence inside the room that has been constantly full of bickering until this very second. Simmons collapses into Grif’s side, who is frozen and staring blankly at the wall in front of him, just past Bitters’ ear. 

“F’r tax benefits,” he mumbles into Grif’s shoulder. “Not-gay tax fraud reasons.” 

“There are easier ways to commit tax fraud, Simmons,” Grif says, voice as blank as his face. 

“Gosh  _ damn _ it,” Sarge curses. “I would’ve won the betting pool if it had happened now!” 

“So close,” Donut whines, and pours himself another ‘glass’ of ‘wine’. “Almost as close as the last time. You guys really are such teases! You go and make a guy think that the end’s approaching, that sweet relieving climax closing in, and then just as the tension’s cresting you pull back out and you’re left feeling frustrated and helplessly excited, the need for the end feeling just as urgent as before, if not more so.” 

“... There’ve been a lot of close calls before this,” Sarge translates for them. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grif says woodenly, and then starts mechanically chugging the rest of his tankard. 

Bitters looks at the clock on the wall, and then has to immediately suppress a groan of despair. How have only  _ ten minutes _ passed?

* * *

 

Even if Simmons is clearly a lightweight, Grif works hard to catch up with him, and he’s soon slurring nonsense along with him. The same goes for the rest of Red Team. 

“And y’know?” Donut says, gesturing with his tankard so the alcohol in it slops over the side, not that he seems to notice or care. “Her hair? She does not take care of it. Look--looks _ awful,  _ really.” 

“Ummm,” Matthews says. “Does insulting the General’s hair count as treasonous…?” 

“The truth is,” Sarge forces out between sobs that shake his entire frame, just the way he’s been doing for the last five minutes now. The handkerchief Matthews had tentatively handed him is  _ soaked. _ “The truth is, I love all of you like sons!” 

“I’m so happy none of us’ll remember this tomorrow…” Grif mumbles into Simmons’ hair. They’re full on cuddling in the middle of the room now. 

“God I wish that was true for everyone,” Jensen says in a low voice to herself, watching her captain being amiably snuggled to within an inch of his life. 

Bitters who is also stone cold sober and also watching his captain being snuggled/snuggling can’t help but nod in somber agreement. 

“I say I don’t judge, but I do,” Donut says. “Constantly.” 

“Even you, Grif,” Sarge wails. “SOMEHOW.” 

“I hate that we’re going to have to invite these people to our tax fraud wedding,” Grif grumbles. 

Simmons, who has been quiet for a while now, just nestles closer into Grif,  _ somehow.  _

“How has an hour still not passed,” Bitters asks, possibly no one in particular, possibly god himself. 

“I do all of the innuendos on purpose,” Donut confesses, and then vomits on the table.

* * *

 

_ “I am here for the drunks,” _ a robotic voice says behind them. All three of them whip around desperately, as if they’ll find a savior. 

“Lopez!” Jensen exclaims. “Red Team ate a bunch of rotten cheese and then drank a lot of moonshine in a wine bottle!”

_ “That explains why there’s more vomit than usual.” _ The robot’s carrying a mop and a bucket of water. Bitters gives the cleaning equipment a wary look, prepared to trip up Jensen and Matthews if it looks like cleaning duties will be declared their duties. 

“I think they might need to go to the hospital?” she goes on worriedly. 

_ “They’ve survived eating worse, unfortunately,”  _ Lopez says.  _ “I should know, I fed them most of it.” _

“You’ll take care of it?” she asks, making Bitters feel like he’s watching a Lassie movie. 

_ “I definitely won’t take them to a hospital, but sure, I’ll take care of it. Like always.”  _

Jensen looks at him with confused incomprehension. “... Si?” 

_ “... Yes.” _

“Oh, thank you, Lopez!” 

_ “Just leave already, you--” _

Jensen interrupts him with a hug. Bitters can almost relate; he’d been just about ready to chew a leg off to escape. 

“Thank you,” she says with the desperate gratitude of someone who’s just barely been saved from a brush with death. 

_ “... There, there. Now seriously, get out.”  _

Jensen leaves. 

Lopez glances at the clock on the wall.  _ “That thing’s broken, by the way. You’ve been here for hours.”  _

Bitters wonders why he continues talking to people even though obviously no one understands him. 

Bitters stands up and looks down at Matthews. “Come on, dude.” 

“We can’t just leave our captain like this… can we?” he asks. 

Bitters looks towards their unconscious captain, tangled together on the floor with Jensen’s equally unconscious captain. Sarge is just barely awake and rambling incoherently about something, and Donut is dizzily nodding along to it like he understands. Lopez wrings a wet rag over his bucket and starts wiping the dirty table. 

“You’re right,” Bitters admits. “We can’t just leave him like this.” 

He pulls out a marker.

* * *

 

“Man, your captains invited you to a group activity?” Palomo asks the next morning over breakfast. “Jealous! Blue Team’s got a movie night, but Captain Tucker said it was ‘sim troopers only’.” 

Bitters can’t muster anything more than a death glare for that. 

“... Sure,” Jensen says weakly, and hides back in her oatmeal. 

“Bitters,” Matthews whispers to him, looking indescribably stressed. 

“Calm down,” Bitters says. 

“Bitters, we’re going to get into trouble. We drew…  _ genitalia _ on our captain’s face. And other captains faces. The heroes of our planet!” 

“Nah. I made sure to cover our tracks.” 

_ “How?”  _

“I know some Spanish swear words, scribbled them on there too.” 

“You framed Lopez?” Matthews sounds both horrified and impressed. 

“Somehow, I don’t get the feeling that he’d mind if Red Team thought that he drew a bunch of dicks on their faces. Can I have your pudding cup?” 

“Okay.” Matthews slides it over. “But only because you came with me to the wine and cheese hour.” 

And he smiles at Bitters and sits extra close, and he has to close his eyes and sigh quietly to himself because he just knows he’s gonna come with Matthews to the next one if he asks. 

And he’s definitely gonna ask. 


End file.
